


Divine Intervention, in the Form of a Sniper Rifle

by cobblepologist



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon Jewish Character, Canon-Typical Violence, Friendship/Love, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Pining, jerome receiving the attention and love he so badly needs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-14
Updated: 2019-03-14
Packaged: 2019-11-17 22:43:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18107993
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cobblepologist/pseuds/cobblepologist
Summary: Maybe something in his bones felt it, that this poor kid was mixed-up in something bad. As good as an actor as he is, Zsasz could tell that this wasn'tright,that he wasn't the one pulling the strings. Just a puppet pulled along.Zsasz makes a new friend.





	Divine Intervention, in the Form of a Sniper Rifle

He goes out for hotdogs.

From what he gathers, Jerome is like him, in the way that any kind of fast food is enough to satiate him. He assumes that being raised on barely nothing and whatever deep-fried concessions his circus offered made him not-so-picky. A scavenger. Kind of like a hyena, in the way that he takes what he can, despite his desire for blood. That, and he can't ever stop laughing.

They're situated in a little abandoned building, staking-out Victor's next kill. He would've sent Jerome to get food if he wasn't still so hot, if the wound wasn't so recent. Better safe and sorry than just sorry. Besides, if it really comes down to it, he's sure he can run back up fast enough to take the shot if need be, or worse gets worse, Jerome could. He's seen him with a revolver, after all. A sniper rifle's in the same kingdom, if not genus.

So, yeah. Hotdogs.

"There's a saying I grew up with. 'Di liebe is zees, nor zi iz gut mit broyt.'" He tosses Jerome the little foil-covered brat. The redhead's sitting on his stool, next to the window, but he happily climbs off once Victor comes in. He goes back to his place on the floor, just across from him. Despite Victor offering him a chair, he just wants to sit there, legs criss-crossed as he watches him. Old habits, maybe.

"Cool. I have _no_  idea what that means."

"It means you gotta eat." Zsasz hesitates, looking back at his gun. "I, uh, figured you'd be used to hotdogs."

Jerome smirks, tilts his head, busts out into hysterics. "Oh, caus'a the circus?" He mock-wipes away a tear, fanning himself. Zsasz notices for the first time that it is unseasonably hot in the room. No one's paying for air conditioner, of course. Jerome finally chokes through his laughter, "you're assumin' they fed me!"

That actually makes him frown. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be, it's nice. Beats corndogs, definitely." Jerome giggles, calming down, and starts to peel the tinfoil off. Slowly, as if he's miming the act, some clownish exaggeration of how people actually move.

"No, I mean, sorry they didn't feed you well. I'll get you something nice tonight, I promise." He goes back to peering through the window, a little embarrassed, a little awkwardly.

Jerome blinks. "Aw, don' get soft on me, Vicky. 'S not like I'm goin' back any time soon."

Ever since he had saved Jerome from near-certain death- and man, what a stunt that was, what with Oswald chewing him out for "harboring dangerous criminals," as ironic as it was- he's had a lot more fun. He doesn't know _what_  exactly spurred him on, made him lead Jerome away from the rest of the Maniax. Maybe something in his bones felt it, that this poor kid was mixed-up in something bad. As good as an actor as he is, Zsasz could tell that this wasn't _right_ , that he wasn't the one pulling the strings. Just a puppet pulled along.

Besides, he liked seeing him on the television. He was funny. He had character, what with that cop outfit on.

Since then, Zsasz has practically been his caretaker, as Oswald had not so subtly put it. He couldn't blame him, not when he was begging to keep Jerome in the way a child would ask for a stray cat. Like a kitten.

He enjoys it, the two of them, together. Most of his lackeys, his girls are busy with their own work, and he's fine with the whole solo routine, really. It's just better with Jerome around. The air feels lighter, sweeter.

Despite being on a job, sitting and eating with Jerome feels so normal.

Jerome spends a lot of his time jotting down ideas into his diary, a little black book with an ice cream cone sticker on the front and his name in bubble letters. There's something cute about it, how his tongue sticks out as he presses little stamps into the pages. Zsasz knows what he's writing is most likely foul, but it just endears him to him more, how he scrawls furiously into the journal with crayons.

Maybe what Victor feels for him runs a bit deeper than friendship. It's nothing he's willing to talk about. He swallows it down, like broken glass.

"What are you writing, doll?" Victor tries to peer at him from his stool, but it's hard to catch his attention.

"Hm?" Jerome finally looks up, bleary. "Not writin', drawing." He sets a red crayon down, picks up a black one. "It's us, eating hotdogs."

Zsasz feels his heart clench. He knows Jerome is severely lacking in good memories- save for some guy named Jeff that he's mentioned in his journal before, when Victor had the guts to sneak a look at it- but the idea that it's important enough to Jerome for him to commemorate it like that makes him feel funny. "I take you like it out here, then?" He's gotta take his mind away from it.

"I mean, I like you, a lot, but that bird boss of yours is a real buzzkill. I like it when ya' shoot the bastards." He puts his book down to clasp his hands together in a mock pistol, imitating "pew pew" sounds.

"What about Galavan, then? You like it better with him?" He shouldn't be asking so many questions, and he definitely shouldn't be frowning.

"I don' know, beat kicking sawdust." Jerome blinks up at him. "Why? Come on, Vicky, I just went along with it 'cause he got me outta Arkham. And I like the spotlight, of course. Lotta fun to push people off buildings and play cop."

"You've got presence, alright. A real showman."

Jerome laughs. And he laughs. And he laughs. Zsasz is almost offended by the time he stops. "Oh, come on, I'm not a showman. I'm not even a clown. I'm a carny. Not even a carny. They made me shovel shit and beat it outta me."

His throat goes tight. "Well, I think you've earned the title by now." He goes back to looking out the window, adjusting his scope.

Things go quiet for a moment, until Jerome speaks back up. "I like spending time with ya'," and Victor's never heard him sound sheepish, didn't think he even _could_ , but a light pink begins to dust his face. "You're... nice."

Victor knows no one has ever been "nice" to him before.

He eyes Zsasz, and his lips are parted invitingly, eyes glazed over.

"Nicer than Galavan?" Victor says, straightening up from his position hunched over the rifle.

"Mm-hm."

It's the worst possible time for this. His target's _there_ , in the building across the street from them, in the most perfect position. The stars couldn't align better if they tried. But then again, there's Jerome, cheeks puffed out as he chews thoughtfully and watches Victor with interest.

_Just take the shot._

His scope is right on the man's head, his finger right against the trigger.

_Come on, just do it._

But Jerome is right there, all red hair and smiles, looking at him n sipping his soda.

_Come on._

He can't make himself pull it.

"I distracted you enough, yet?"

"What?" Victor swallows, hard, as if forcing down the feeling in his throat will force down all other feelings.

"I'm not dumb, ya'know," Jerome says as he balances himself on his heels, rocking forth slightly. "You were gonna shoot the guy. But'cha didn't."

Victor is subsequently mortified. His mouth hangs open uselessly.

"Hey, that's okay!" Jerome jumps to his feet, traipses over to his stool. Elbow resting on the windowsill, as if offering a proposition. "All's forgiven. I'm sure the little bird won't mind how long you take." He hums, taps a finger to his chin in thought. "But maybe you should kiss me now."

Victor's brain only processes "kiss me," latches onto it like a fish to bait. Jerome's hook in the roof of his mouth. It takes him no time at all to grab Jerome by his face, earning him a yelp, and clack their teeth together. Instead of complaining, Jerome seems to appreciate it, hands sliding up in response to grab at Victor's neck and shoulders.

Once they part, Jerome is nothing if not appreciative, head lolling to Victor's shoulder. "Nice," he says, and then again, "nice." Almost a whisper, not quite a mantra. It makes Victor's heart hurt, as if someone had fashioned it a noose out of his own arteries. His hands go to pull Jerome in, smooth the expanse of his back. He begins to worry when he realizes how shallow his breathing is.

"Jerome?"

"Hm?" A start, as if he was halfway to sleep. Victor doesn't blame him, instead pulling him more fully onto his lap, maneuvering the boy like a ragdoll. He swings Jerome's legs across his lap, and that earns him a pleased sound from Jerome. The first time he saw him on television, he never thought he could be so compliant, but he thinks back to how well he followed Theo's orders and hesitates. Perhaps this is what he wanted all along, a little direction and a lot of attention.

Victor finds himself turning his head, burying his face in Jerome's hair, little shards of red that stick out every which way. He's still limp in Victor's arms, murmuring once Victor presses a kiss to the top of his head.

"You're nice," he slurs again, as if drunk off of affection.

"You can be so sweet," Victor says as he squeezes the soft area between Jerome's neck and his jaw, "can't you, kitten?"

"Maybe," he grumbles, as if he wants to still seem fearsome. But he still grabs at Victor's jacket, burying his face in it.

"Next time," Victor says, clearing his throat, "next time, I'm gonna tell Oswald to get me a job out of town. Somewhere we can have a nice little vacation together, just you and me. Do you like that, handsome?"

"Mm-hm. Just wanna be with you, Vicky. You can take me anywhere." The ginger yawns. "I'm a carry-on clown."

Victor smiles at that. "We might have to be here all night, then. Think you can handle that?"

Jerome nuzzles his shoulder, quiet, as if he's thinking. "You promised me dinner."

"Oh, I did, didn't I?" He remembers, of course. There's a whole list of things he wants to do with Jerome in his head. "Well, guess we'll just have to take a little detour."

They have time for that latter. For now, Jerome rests his head on Victor's shoulder, happy, allowing Victor to tangle his fingers in his hair.

**Author's Note:**

> what zsasz says in the beginning is a yiddish phrase that means "love is good, but it is good with bread."
> 
> thinking of writing a similar (longer) piece where victor saves jarm from the circus before he can kill his mom :9


End file.
